I Do
by yanayada
Summary: A marriage- of hate, or at the very least, intense dislike. Paired together as a Hogwarts project by the secretly sadistic teachers, Draco and Hermione bicker their way through weddings, projects, and everything else in between.
1. And All Hell Breaks Loose

**Chapter 1: and all hell breaks loose.**

**Draco** drummed his fingers on the tabletop, looked at it in disgust, and told himself sternly that his fingers were going to be soiled enough when he killed Professor McGonagall. No need to worsen the dire situation.  
  
Wait, did he say dire?  
  
He meant perfect.  
  
Because murdering the woman, who had a sadistic streak he had not given her credit for, was _definitely_ in the agenda.  
  
It was to be ticked off soon… Right after inspecting the legs of any passing female in a Hogwarts schoolgirl. Oh, and examining every inch of his blond head. Just in case of -shudder- a misplaced strand.  
  
But back to the current catastrophe, which, shockingly, did not involve neither voyeuristic tendencies nor a rumpled bit of clothing.  
  
It was time to choose the bride.

* * *

_"What??_ " Professor McGonagall's class froze, not so much as sat, in their seats, stunned into silence.  
  
Hermione Granger, as could be expected, was the first to break the silence. "Surely, Professor, you can't mean for us to pair up with a- a- iSlytherin/i," wrinkling her nose in distaste. "To pair us up as _husband and wife_? Please, no offence, but this time you just _have_ to be joking!"  
  
Murmurs of shocked agreement buzzed throughout the room. Slytherins and Gryffindors agreeing- a truly historic moment.  
  
Professor McGonagall shook her head almost pityingly. "Class, I had trusted that you would respond to this new- ah- pet project of Professor Dumbledore's with maturity."  
  
"Each of the boys is to select a mock bride from the opposite house- and opposite gender," she added with a severe glance at Crabbe who had gazed at Harry with a disturbing look. "To be married to for the rest of the year. You will do everything together, as married couples do. As you have yet to receive definite timetables, as I'm sure you've noticed, the ones that you are going to receive tomorrow, after you have married, will have each couple having every class which you take together scheduled at the same times."  
  
"You will spend every waking moment together, and will only be- ahem- separated at night when you return to your separate house dorms. This project is based on one that Muggle students commonly do at your age."  
  
"Now, will all of the males in this room stand up and approach a female of the opposite house, and.. Uh.. Ask her for her hand in marriage?"  
  
The class remained silent. Every eye was focused on the diminutive frame of the teacher, every mind fervently thinking, _If looks could kill.  
_  
The Professor pursed her lips, folded her arms tightly across her chest and glared.  
  
And all hell broke loose.

* * *

Hermione fingered the soft feathers of her quill impatiently, and rather nervously, as her eyes flickered over the group of Slytherin boys who were inching forward towards the Gryffindor girls. Even as she bent her head over, allowing her sea of curls to curtain her face as she glanced at the Slytherins, it was obvious the Gryffindor females were eyeing Draco Malfoy, in a somewhat.. Predator-like manner.  
  
She shook her hair back and openly eyed the boys, mentally running their statistics in her mind quickly.  
  
This project was actually highly interesting, once you got past the idea of having to be imarriedi to a testosterone-filled Slytherin. She involuntarily shuddered before flicking her hair back and adding some notes to on the project to her already long scroll of parchment that was tickling the floor.  
  
After all, Hermione Granger was hardly about to- what was that term? She hardly used it- _mess up_ on the most vital assignment of the year just because of some _boy.  
_  
Merlin, no. The boy would just have to deal with her.  
  
Just then, Hermione noticed a pair of rather expensive-looking Doc Martens in front of her desk, but before she could look up, a cool drawl snaked out form above.  
  
"Marry me, Granger?"  
  
The quill slipped from her hand.

* * *

Draco Malfoy regarded the brunette amusedly as she froze in shock, recovering only to retrieve her quill. As she bent over, she promptly knocked out her stack of notes.  
  
He rolled his eyes.  
  
If a mock proposal did this to her, he could hardly imagine what she would do when the Weasel did it for real. Have a heart attack, most likely.  
  
"Are you a witch or not, Granger?" he asked contemptuously as she scrambled to get her notes. She looked up and scowled. He sighed. "Not, I suppose."  
  
Raising his wand- "Leviate!"  
  
The mess shuffled apologetically into a neat file and rose onto Grangers' table, guided by his wand. After surveying him suspiciously, she stood up, dusted her robes primly and crossed her arms irritably across her rather bountiful chest.  
  
Draco smiled at her lazily as he wondered why he had, quite suddenly, decided to choose the Mudblood. Of course, dear daddy had asked him not to be that much of a vile bastard that year (supposedly he had too much practice of that) but this was a bit much. Cozying up to Granger- eew, vivid mental picture.  
  
He cast a covert appraisal over Granger's body.  
  
Okay, maybe not.  
  
But then, as he turned around to see Blaise Zabini n bent knee, with a swooning Lavender being supported by a disgruntled Parvati Patil as she grudgingly accepted Crabbe's offer, he was forcibly reminded of why Granger was the best.  
  
At least, comparatively.  
  
Her voice broke his thoughts. "And you chose me, why?"  
  
Turning to her, he spoke as if to a dimwitted child. _Huh, I wish_. "Mudblood, do not question my bad taste. I need not explain to you. And you will accept, of course.  
  
Her face was going to be contorted for life at the rate she was scowling. "Why, of all the audacity.. Doesn't really look like I have a choice, do I?"  
  
"Not really, no."  
  
"I don't believe this."  
  
"Sadly. That is, that my sanity is going."  
  
She glared. "How the hell am I supposed to marry you?"  
  
"By accepting this ring, of course." He held up a dark green velvet box containing and exquisite emerald ring.  
  
Granger gasped.  
  
_Ooh, lovely alliteration.  
_  
And so did the rest of the class.

**_-end._**


	2. And Here Comes The Disgruntled Bride

_**A/N: **thanks all reviewers! was worried about the responses i might get. and no, it's not a one-shot :)) enjoy then-_

**Chapter 2**

**and here comes (the disgruntled) bride.**

**"How**… _grunt_.. am I… _gasp!_ … supposed to bloody fit into this bloody dress?"  
  
Ginny watched her best friend in amusement as Hermione laced herself us with surprising difficulty into a corset-like satin wedding gown muttering dark and often bloody prophecies of Draco Malfoy's future. "That fowl.. Manipulative.. Son of a bi… how dare he, dazzling me into submission with that accursed Slytherin jewel…He tricked me into spending the rest of the year in living hell.. Just he wait.."  
  
"He didn't trick you, Hermione. I believe that proposing with a ring is traditional."  
  
Hermione let out a thoroughly disgruntled groan. "Humour me, Ginny." and then, "Do I look fat?"  
  
Ginny laughed and leapt up from the bed, helping Hermione brush her formerly untamable bush of hair into a deep chocolate flow. A blood red flower bloomed in her ear, and Hermione, with a final, unsure glance at the mirror, grabbed her bouquet of flowers carelessly and ran lightly out of the room.  
  
Back in the Gryffindor girls' dorm, Ginny looked as Parvati and Lavender made their separate ways down the stairs. _Let the fireworks begin. _

_

* * *

_  
  
Draco Malfoy had indeed seen many beautiful women in his life, had done more than just seeing, in fact, but the lithe figure that ran, flushed, into the transformed Transfiguration classroom that Wednesday was quite beyond beauty.  
  
Mud would never look the same again.  
  
Mud. Wait, that was right. Granger was just a Mudblood. Filth of the earth. Her supposed beauty concealed the sullied blood coursing through her veins. _Get a grip, Malfoy.  
_  
He knew perfectly well that the beauty of the Mudbloods and Muggles had been famed in the Pureblooded realm, and the rumours that the Muggles were actually witches and wizards, whose magic remained dormant. That was how Mudbloods supposedly obtained theirs from nowhere.  
  
Draco had always disliked rumours.  
  
He stepped up coolly to Hermione and offered her his arm, sneering. Best she didn't think herself better than him.  
  
Openly eyeing her with a sneer stamped on his face, "Let's get on with this, shall we?"  
  
A look of intense annoyance grossed Granger's features. "_I_ wasn't the one who wanted to marry me."  
  
"No, Granger, that _is_, curiously, impossible, you know."  
  
"Don't change the subject, Malferret."  
  
"Was there any in the first place?"  
  
Granger blew a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. "Git."  
  
"Mudblood," He retorted, almost conversationally, smirking at her.  
  
"You don't _have_ to be an ass, you know."  
  
"Even though I have a nice one?" he said, innocently.  
  
Fortunately, they arrived un front of Dumbledore (dressed in fully white priest robes) before Hermione could retort. She shut her eyes, and her small, sharp fingernails dug painfully into Draco's arm and he was torn between laughing, and yelling in pain. He compromised with a loud grunt.  
  
Dumbledore glanced at the couple quizzically. "Shall we begin, then?"  
  
Hermione gave a tight-lipped nod. _Yes, let's get this nightmare over with and continue to the next one_, said her resigned expression. She pressed her nails further into Draco's silken arm till he felt the skin break.

* * *

There was something warm seeping into her fingernails. Regardless of Dumbledore serenely reading the traditional nuptial vows, Hermione glanced down at the arm she was clutching. The muscles were abnormally taut.  
  
Her eyes widened in shock.  
  
"Miss Hermione Athena Granger, do you accept Mr Draco Ingram Malfoy as your husband?"  
  
Startled, Hermione stammered, "Um, sure, whatever. I mean, I do," she said hastily. _Whatever?_  
  
"Mr Malfoy?"  
  
"I do," Draco- Malfoy fixed his gaze on Dumbledore and something flickered in his eye.  
  
Hermione suddenly realized, with a surge of sheer horror, what was coming next.  
  
"You may kiss the bride."  
  
Hermione froze, feeling the blood begin to dry on her fingers. Numbly, she felt herself being bodily turned to the right, but just as the smirking blond lowered his head, pouting his pale lips, Hermione looked up.  
  
And spit on his.  
  
"Don't even _think_ about it," she hissed, wiping her lips as she attempted to pull away, but Draco sodding Malfoy suddenly clamped her arms to her sides. Hermione found herself loathing the Quiddich practices for bestowing him with such muscles.  
  
His silver eyes were darkening, and flashing dangerously. "You know what, Granger, I'd prefer your muddy saliva somewhere else."  
  
He winked.  
  
Then he lifted her up, above his head, and pressed his lips onto hers.  
  
Hermione opened her mouth in pain as Malfoy gripped her arms harshly. Of course, that was pretty much akin to opening the gates of hell. As her lips parted, Malfoy slyly slipped his tongue into her mouth and _Oohh_.. it writhed pleasurably in there… like a snake.  
  
Hermione felt herself go limp, and vaguely heard a moan. Draco snogged like an angel..  
  
_Malfoy??  
_  
Hermione tore her mouth away from his, struggling more frantically than ever to get out of his grasp. "Let me go, Malfoy!" she gasped, when she saw that he was not trying to stop her movements, rather, had closed his eyes in perverted apppreciation of the friction she was providing.  
  
Malfoy smiled slowly, and dropped her. Incidentally, she fell, heavily, on his, and he _thoughtfully_ supported her from landing flat on the ground, though his hand placements were questionable.  
  
Whacking his hands away, she reached out to push his leering face to she side, smearing it with blood.  
  
A low, amused voice sounded behind Hermione.  
  
"You sure give new meaning to the term 'bloody fine kiss, 'Mione," the Boy Who Lived commented as Ron collapsed behind hi,, sniggering.  
  
She turned. "Let's see you do better, then." and whacked them.  
  
Behind them, Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode appeared to be struggling between disgust and sheer mirth.


	3. Before

**Chapter 3**

**hogsmeade, honestly.**  
  
Hermione Granger, was, at the moment, a very unhappy witch. Walking out of the large oak doors leading outside Hogwarts, she tried her best to lose herself in the milling crowd of seventh years that were streaming out, away from the tall blond pursuing her. But she knew it was no use.  
  
_What did I ever do to deserve this?_ She wondered with a grimace, darting behind a large tree. Anything to be away from him. Hermione poked her head from behind it and heard a sigh. "Why don't we stop playing hide-and-seek, Granger?"  
  
_Shoot.  
_  
"I wasn't hiding!" she exclaimed indignantly, reddening in paradox. "I was just…"  
  
"What, looking for a place to… leak?" Malfoy smirked, glancing at the tree she had been attempting to hide behind as he grasped her arm and pulled her quite forcefully towards the direction in which the crowd was headed.  
  
She had walked right into that one.

* * *

Draco glanced at the witch he was pulling along. Surprisingly, she was letting herself being pulled, with a wholly resigned expression etched on her face. He winked at her. "We're taking a tad too long, aren't we?" She looked at him quizzically.  
  
He took her hand in his, handling it gently, and heard Granger suck in her breath behind him. He was pleased to see that she was, indeed, wearing the emerald ring he had given her. He turned. "So you _did_ like it."  
  
She refused to meet his eyes. Through gritted teeth, she said, "Get your paws off me right now, Malfoy," trying to tug her hand away.  
  
"I know a lot of other girl's who'd kill to have me _look_ at them."  
  
"Sorry to disappoint." Her small hand was trembling in his. Ha. He carefully dragged a finger across her palm, his other hand grasping hers strongly. He traced her lifeline, and saw her lifting her head to stare at his movements. "What are you doing?"  
  
He finally reached the ring. Flipping her hand over smoothly, he placed his index finger on the glimmering emerald, whispered a few words, and drew Hermione to his chest. He felt the familiar painful jerk at his midriff and laughed out loud as he heard Granger squeak.

* * *

With a shallow gasp, Hermione fell towards the shiny marble with her hands flung out. She didn't feel the impact, a pair of arms were supporting her. She wriggled out of Malfoy's grasp and glared up at him, dusting herself off. She wanted some answers.  
  
"A portkey, Malfoy? Where are we? Why didn't you warn me? And why did it only work when you touched it? Surely…"  
  
"Slow down, Granger," he said, coolly slipping his hand into his pocket and doing a quick charm to ensure that his appearance remained flawless. She rolled her eyes, he was the one who had once put up his hand in the middle of Charms to demand that they learn one. She hadn't been surprised.  
  
Still. She opened her mouth to continue-  
  
"Silencio!" Hermione glowered at him. Malfoy had the cheek to laugh at her. _Why, that little_… She was reaching into her own jeans pocket when he held up a hand and said, "Let's not hex each others' head off. You want answers and I can give them. You don't poke me with your wand before I finish talking and I'll lift the spell. Deal?"  
  
Unwillingly, she nodded, and crossed her arms, tapping her right foot expectantly.  
  
"Firstly, this is a special kind of portkey. It belongs to the Malfoys, it's an heirloom, so only when one with Malfoy blood in them does it work. You have to say a spell, I won't tell you what. Also, it will work with you now because you _touched_ Malfoy blood. This leaves a permanent mark." she looked sickened. Draco smirked and went on.  
  
"And it can't be taken off once worn-" Hermione's mouth fell open indignantly, she tried to wrench the ring off- "so don't bother trying. And obviously I wouldn't want to spoil the _surprise._ where we are," he smirked, spreading his arms- "Is in the middle of Hogsmead, that is, one of the finest hotels here, that is specially reiserved/i for those of the Malfoy clan to check in and out at any time they want."  
  
Hermione was opening and closing her mouth furiously. "Anyone tell you that you look like a goldfish?" he asked, leaning against an elegant chest of drawers.  
  
She lunged.

* * *

"Argh! Fine! Gerrof, I'll take off the spell, I swear!" Granger released her death grip on Draco's throat, he fell o the ground gasping. After gulping down a few breaths, he slicked back his hair and looked up. "Violent, aren't we?"  
  
She raised a hand threateningly.  
  
"Relax, woman! I'm just joking. _Finite incantatem!_" And it was of course very stupid of him not to have immediately realized that giving Hermione Granger her voice back was a highly stupid thing to do considering the circumstances. Not that he would have done much better had he not done so, anyway.  
  
"How _dare_ you bring me into this… _whorehouse_ for your little girlfriends!" she seethed, advancing towards the apparently unintimidated blond, her small hands balled into sharp fists which she was having trouble keeping down. She lifted them up and began poking him in the chest. "You. Get. Me. Out. NOW," punctuating each word with a full stop on his chest. "I refuse to remain holed up here for another second, regardless of you being my technical husband."  
  
He looked at her and decided to risk a snarky comment. After all, his _wife_ deserved at least _some_ consideration before being barbed. "You know Granger, I'm sure I can make you change your mind with a little persuasion."  
  
"DRACO INGRAM MALFOY!"


	4. Hogsmeade, Honestly

_A/N; many, many apologies for the long wait. this chapter is slightly longer, another one being chugged out soon, as soon as my internet decides to work again. enjoy!_

**Chapter 4 **

**hogsmeade, honestly.**

****

* * *

Draco scowled. "They should never have used my middle name."

Hermione looked at him inquiringly, forgetting the circumstances for the moment. "You don't like it, then?"

"Would you?" Draco suddenly gave a half smile. "But the meaning describes me perfectly.. Ingram means Angel."

"Talk about unsuitable meanings... And I haven't even begun on what your initials spell. D-I-M! Malfoy, _that's_ appropriate."

He had been walking towards a door when he turned to gift her with his signature smirk. "It still beats H.A.G. any day, right?"

"At least my middle name is better," she shot back, striding towards the door as he was obviously dawdling. "Why can't I open it?"

"The ring, Granger. Here, I'll show you how-"

"No, that's oka-" Draco grabbed Hermione's hand forcefully, completely enveloping it, and pressed the emerald into a slot Hermione had assumed was for keys. He was crushing her against the door, with both hands clamped over hers as he twisted the ring, slowly, deliberately. "I can't breathe, Malfoy! Get off me before I get violent!" His entire body was pressed up against her, she could feel all the crevices and taut muscles that was Malfoy. Then one leg snaked around hers lazily, his foot rubbing up her calf. She froze.

The door swung open.

Hermione staggered out. "Maybe I should have taken longer," he said, throwing her a smirk as he brushed past her.

She didn't know how to arrange her features. "Uh, thanks, Malfoy."

* * *

Hermione Granger picked at her food uncomfortably. The blonde in front of her, across a long, long table, was staring at her. Relentlessly.

After every five minutes or so, he would pick his pencil up, and sketch for another five minutes.

Surprisingly, it was actually getting to her.

She had once tried to ask what in Merlin's name was he doing, but Malfoy had simply told her to shut her muddy mouth and enjoy the food that he was paying good Galleons for, and he would thank her for it. No more questions taken, Mudblood.

She had given up.

As she laid down her fork (pure silver, judging from its weight) to dab at her mouth with the silken napkin, she once again admired her luxuriant surroundings. An enormous fire was roaring behind Malfoy, exquisite crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings where miniscule fairies danced and giggled cheekily, and the food itself was a thing not to be scoffed at. Merlin, they even had caviar. Not that she had cared much for it, however. Steak was fine as it was.

She had to make it a point to visit up market restaurants like this more often. Still, Malfoy had informed her in no uncertain terms that this place was solely for those with background. Not for filthy, grubbing Mudbloods. Hermione had bristled at him indignantly at his casual, constant use of the vulgar term, but he had just stared at her impassively. Again his slate grey eyes had silenced her. One day she would attempt to charm the blue, or something. Just a colour more.. expressive.

Furthermore, the place, an exclusive motel, apparently, appeared to be hidden. There was no light at all streaming in, it appeared to be midnight with a large, luminous moon.

She sighed, and cupped her chin in her hands. "Malferret, are you ever going to let me out of my prison?"

He muttered something, assumedly some dastardly curse, and flung the sketchpad across the table onto the spot where her empty plate had been a moment ago.

Hermione had gaped.

On the first page was a girl. One with wild, bushy brown hair that flared out freely behind her as she appeared to be laughing at something, one hand clutched at her side and another grasping a small book bag. And her eyes, big and sparkling and brimming with life. She was wearing Muggle jeans and a long-sleeved blouse. It was.. her. Her wearing the exact same outfit and in the exact same position as she had been the last Hogsmeade visit last year. She knew, she had caught sight of a large mirror in a shop window and thought, for a moment, that perhaps she could actually be called pretty.

Hermione looked up uncertainly.

"Turn the page." A lock of his white-blond had fallen down to veil his eyes, which were in themselves mirrors. They just reflected herself, a stark, clear vision, as if it were a mirror that stripped everything of its beauty.

She lifted the first sheet and gawked.

It was a nude study of herself. Embarrassingly accurate. Oddly enough, it was a view from above of her lying in a bathtub, her bushy hair tamed and limped, fanning out in the water. Her face itself was beneath the surface, and her eyes were shut. Closed, her face looked softer, and the manner in which Malfoy had captured the water in a way that it distorted her face ever so slightly, made her beautiful. Like a mermaid that had climbed out of the sea, to become human, and who had missed the water so that she had climbed into the tub to saturate.

And her hands- _oh gods_. One was strewn across her chest, the other on her.. below her midsection, in a clawlike position, clasping between her legs.

Next to the bathtub appeared to be a birds-eye view of a man with light-coloured hair, bent over a sketchpad, looking directly at the woman.

She felt herself getting angry, immensely angry, as if the pictures had both violated the most private part of herself. They were exquisite and he had drawn her like nobody else had seen her, or so she thought. She did not even know how he had been able to draw the nude study, she had never even taken photos of herself, she...

Hermione's thoughts were winding around in a vortex as she slowly lifted her head to glare at the boy sitting across her. Except... he was gone.

Her anger ebbed away to shock. "Draco?"

Two arms suddenly lifted her clean out of her seat. Hermione screamed, finding herself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy as he carried her unceremoniously out or two grand double doors into the village of Hogsmeade.

Granger was unnerved, that he was certain of. Draco wanted to keep the girl off-balance for as long as she was with him. It was the way it had to be, though she didn't know it. The diminutive Mudblood was used to being in charge, knowing exactly what to do, doing exactly as she wanted. But with him, Draco knew Hermione always lost her bearings, even in Year Three when she had slapped him.

It was an act she would never had done when she was in control. So even if Draco hadn't appreciated the blow, he sought solace in the thought that Hermione herself was unable to understand why she had done that.

In the restaurant, Draco knew that she was not able to make head or tail of his sketches. He smirked at the back of the brunette who was keeping a couple of steps ahead of him. They would have to write a report together at the end of the trip, detailing the experience, some pathetic reflection. He would like to see her struggle with the idea. Draco bet that Granger's idea of married life was the direct opposite of the convoluted reality he was keeping her in. And now, she could throw him father than she trusted him, neither of which was very much.

And then there was the problem with his hormones. Hormonal Granger, that was the name the Mudblood should had been dubbed. Her body was flawless, as he had seen when he had once snuck a look at the pictures Colin Creevy had somehow managed to take of her in the bathtub, for a collection of his Hogwarts' Beauties. On personal order only.

So he had, of course, wangled every moment to be able to feel her up. He had not been disappointed.

He heard an excited squeal up ahead and saw, to his distaste, Granger bounding up to her two bedmates, Scarhead and Ragbag. Millicent and Pansy were mooching some few feet behind them. Millicent's body-altering charms (iA/N: the wizarding equivalent to our cosmetic plastic surgery/i) had certainly worked. Her one beauty before, long black hair, had given way to her now other assets.

Draco snorted. Which she was flaunting in a ridiculous Slytherinny-green leather catsuit. Nevertheless, Potter appeared to appreciate her attire and was sneaking looks every once in a while. The Boy Who Lived; future shagaholic.

Urgh, bad mental picture.

"Come _on_, Granger. No time to have some grope session with your bodyguards, I think they're quite ibusy/i at the moment. Let 's go, idarling/i," he said, wrapping his hand around her waist and smiling easily at Potter and Weasley, who were staring at him in disgust. "Shoo, shoo, move along with your brides there."

Granger was protesting. "But I was just-"

"No, we have a busy day ahead of us, Mudblood."

She stared blankly at him. "We do?"

He smiled, wickedly. "Yes, we do."

* * *

Draco smirked at the witch next to him. It was a Sunday, and many witches and wizards were out shopping, including several of his father' s pureblooded friends. They stared at the odd couple (_though Draco prided himself that they _did_ look good together, Granger having bloomed this year_), in undisguised appall. A pureblood and a Mudblood together would give them gossip fodder for the next two weeks.

Still, Draco was enjoying himself. Trips to Hosmeade were, for him, usually extremely unpleasant. Either with his parents, during which his father would lecture nonstop on either some Dark Lord topic or on the topic of Draco himself.

Herm- _Granger_ was totally different. While she was silent most of the time, obviously unsure of what to say, The conversation they had from time to time while walking were impassioned debates on the pet subject of bloodlines, or the subjects that were taught at Hogwarts. Arithmancy, especially.

Granger, now, wore an expression of extreme discomfort and loathing. He had kept his arm wrapped around her, occasionally slipping a finger or two below the hem of her jeans. Once, she was so distracted by a large display of new books in Flourish and Blotts' that his entire hand had slid under her sweater and rubbed, but she hadn't noticed. Either that or she had chosen to ignore him, as she was not even talking now.

But the Mudblood had never been able to shut up, sadly.

"Malferret, are you ever going to stop feeling me up and let me go?" she asked petulantly, pushing his wandering hand away from her for the fifth time.

He smirked. "No, not unless you can tell me that you ihonestly/i don't want me to."

"I-I- _Malfoy!_"

"Sorry. My hand slipped- Ow! That was below the belt, Granger!"

She blinked up innocently. "Sorry, knee slipped."

"Why you little- come back, Mudblood!"

She was running away from him, laughing evilly as she pointed her wand at him. "_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

He floated up, and up, controlled by the bit of wood and slip of the girl, both of which were becoming decidedly smaller by the second. "

_Shit_. "Put me _down_, Granger!"

"Not until you say the magic word," she sang out, obviously relishing the feeling of being on top of him again. In a manner of speaking.

"Put me _down!_"

"_Beep_. Wrong.." The idiot girl somehow knew about his addiction to Muggle game shows.

"If you put me down I'll shag you!"

"Is it _that_ hard, Draco?"

"Interesting choice of words."

"Merlin, just say it orI shall keep you up there. Nice jeans, by the way."

"_Please_! Please put me down or I shall assemble an army of house-elves to murder and rape you!"

She shrieked, but finally broke the connection. He fell downwards with a _Thump_, landing directly on her.

_well, review!_


	5. Black and Blue

**I Do. **

**Chapter 5 Black and Blue.**

Hermione Granger had never really understood her species' fascination of the opposite sex. Over the years, in the same dormitory as Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, she had sat aside, legs tucked to her chest, observing her roommates in amusement as they swapped pictures of various Hogwarts schoolboys, as well as wizarding celebrities, gossiping heatedly over the supposed best-looking ones and their statistics. Her detachment, she had conceded, must be traced to the fact that she had been best friends with two of the most prominent boys in the school.

And now, '_married_' to one.

Too much exposure indeed.

But Hermione retained a deep appreciation for the aesthetic values o her boys. Her beautiful, beautiful boys; Harry, with his slight slouch hiding his lean, muscled body and his oddly determined shuffle when he walked. Hermione never tired of putting her book down just to cup her head in her hand and admire the smooth line of his neck that exploded into Harry's mussed, ebony hair.

Ron was another matter. He had an easy, loping stride that betrayed his comfort with his gangly body. He had an aura of gentle, relaxed flames that would, at times, flicker and crackle dangerously when he was agitated. Sometimes, when he slept (like a log, from the fire) she would lean over and trace his perfect, sloping jaw line, up to his crinkled eyes.

Her beautiful, beautiful boys.

The odd thing was, which Hermione realized, was that she observed and loved the two boys, in the case of their looks, as she had done the exquisite sculptures in Greece. But her boys were filled and overflowing with life, and the love of it, accounting for the irresistible aura that drew girls to sigh and break their hearts over them. They would look at Hermione jealously at times, envying Hermione her 'privilege' of basking between the two. The two in question were, of course, completely oblivious to their effects, which probably made their appeal all the more adorable.

Draco Malfoy, however, was as cold and ruthlessly flawless as the marble statues themselves. The boy had matured, his pointed chin becoming more chiselled and refined, as the generations of supposedly cultured and untainted purebloods blessing him with the qualities that other scrambled for. He sauntered like and haughty prince that he was, any invasion of his personal space was quickly remedied by the perpetrator with a glance of his slanted, icy orbs.

So it was odd, then, that the eyes of Draco Malfoy, despite Hermione's proximity, were wide, unguarded, and startled. He had knocked into her (laughing apparently constituted a shaky wand arm) and the two of them had rolled unceremoniously downhill.

She was lucky that he hadn't Avada Kedavra'd her then and there.

It was luckier that his wand that rolled a few metres away.

Something occurred to Hermione, as she stared at Draco's dark eyelashes. The boy smelt of mint and snow, and his skin was nearly as pale as it. Perfect. His was the kind of beauty that was cold, ornamental, and never meant to be loved.

Hermione had once had a doll like that. Long, silken hair like spun sunshine and enormous glassy eyes, a pouting petal mouth.

She had hated it.

Hated the doll its perfection. What she could never be. Hated the doll so much that it had _hurt_, but she loved it so much that when her cousin had knocked it down and torn the lacy frock, Hermione had made a new one made of satin, stitching long into the night until she had pricked her finger and drops of blood seeped into the scarlet material.

If it were perfect, if something could be perfect, Hermione would want it to stay that way.

She couldn't help it, now. She touched.

A miniscule smudge darkened Draco's lower lip. She lifted a hand, hesitantly, brushing against his robed chest as she did so.

While Hermione kept her gaze fixed on the offending smudge, Draco's eyes followed her every minute move. His eyes still looked large and surprised, first by their closeness, the hill that they had rolled down tangling their garments, hair and limbs into a whirlwind, and then by her daring.

Her fingers brushed against his bottom lip. She rubbed.

Hermione's deliberate touch sent an electric jolt through them both; Malfoy's eyes turned stormy with a swiftness that stunned her and his tongue darted out to lick her finger.

And the Hermione's eyes widened in horror as she saw his skin suddenly darkening, trails of black and blue where her fingers had been, where her fingers had bee, disfiguring his face. She blanched, froze.

Malfoy sneered slightly. "You see, Granger, it was true when I said that Mudbloods were filthy."

Draco knew perfectly well what was happening to his skin. It hurt, after all, quite badly too, although a good _Crucio_ render this pain no worse than an ant bite in comparison. His father had cast this curse on him, when he caught Draco flirting with a pretty, Mudblood barmaid. From then on, if anyone with a drop of Muggle blood in in would leave bruises wherever their bare skins touched.

Draco had made sure that Hermione had been too preoccupied before to have noticed the bruises she had… uh… _inflicted_ on him. But she did have to find out sometime.

He was dragged from his musings by the Mudblood's horrified gasp. "Merlin, Draco! What did I do? You can't _possibly_ have an _allergy_ to… to my kind, I've never ever heard of it. Oh damn, it must've been in the Restricted Sect… Why didn't you tell me? We have to see Madam Pomfrey about this, we have to tell Dumbledore…"

At this, Draco let out a low growl and rolled onto Granger, hearing her splutter in shock and disgust under him. HE dragged himself deliberately against her body, lifting up her blouse somewhat so that her stomach brushed against his robes, till they were face to face.

"Listen here, _Mudblood_," he hissed between his teeth, his breath fanning out onto Granger's white face. " We- you- don't _have_ to tell _anyone_ and there is no need to publicize my allergy, as there is no chance that it will act up again. Is there, Granger," he glared into her eyes, lowering his head so that pain exploded in the tip of his nose. "Tell me. _Is there_?"

Granger stared back into his eyes, hers a defiant mix of anger, fear and uncertainty. "No, Malfoy." Then she lifted herself up, and pressed her lips against his. "No, Malfoy," she murmured into him. "I won't listen to you."

* * *

Hermione did not really know why she kissed him. All she knew was that the pain and fire that swirled in Malfoy's usually implacable eyes were exactly what she wanted him to feel, to know that the pain he felt mirrored her own hurts due to him. And then all thought vanished as she moved against Malfoy's rapidly hardening lips, and she tasted blood.

Blood. He was bleeding.

She broke off the kiss violently, while Malfoy tried to prolong it, making sure that she tasted his blood, making sure she knew what she did to him. Making sure they both felt the danger.

Hermione gasped, horrified, and the suddenness with which she jerked threw Malfoy off her. His lips were quite, quite black; the area around it stained scarlet, and indeed, he looked like a cross between a Veela and a Vampire.

And then, smiling in an incredibly ghastly way to the shell-shocked hermione, Draco Malfoy fainted.


End file.
